Chapter Text
4.
The annual Stark Industries Benefit Gala was the pinnacle of Manhattan’s social calendar—a sea of glittering diamonds, vintage champagne, and egos large enough to have their own gravitational pulls. For the Avengers, it was a mandatory exercise in "public relations." For Senku Ishigami, it was a colossal waste of time that could have been spent refining nitric acid.
"Ten billion percent illogical," Senku grumbled, tugging at the high collar of his outfit.
He wasn't wearing a standard tuxedo. Loki had insisted on "providing" the attire, claiming Midgardian wool was fit only for livestock. Senku was draped in Asgardian silk the color of a deep forest at midnight, accented with gold embroidery that traced the lines of circuit boards—a subtle nod to the boy's obsession. The fabric moved like liquid, shimmering with a faint, iridescent light that made Senku’s pale skin and striking red eyes pop with a lethally attractive clarity.
"Stop fidgeting, little scholar," Loki murmured, appearing at his elbow.
Loki looked every bit the Prince he was, dressed in matching green and black, his hair slicked back, his expression one of bored regal disdain. But his eyes—usually cold as Jotunheim—were burning as they swept over Senku. He looked possessive, like a dragon guarding a hoard of one.
"The friction coefficient of this fabric is nearly zero," Senku noted, rubbing the sleeve. "What is this? Synthetic spider silk? Some kind of high-tensile protein polymer?"
"It is woven from the dreams of the Norns and starlight," Loki replied, his voice dropping to a low, intimate hum. He leaned in, his breath fanning Senku’s ear. "And it suits you far better than that tattered white coat."
The Observation
As they entered the ballroom, the Avengers were already scattered. Tony was working the room, but his eyes kept darting back to the entrance. When he saw Senku and Loki, he actually choked on his scotch.
"Okay, wow," Tony muttered to Pepper. "Loki didn't just dress him; he marked him. They’re color-coordinated. That’s not a 'friend' move. That’s a 'this-is-mine' move."
"Peter's friend looks like a prince," Pepper remarked, impressed. "And Loki looks like he’s ready to smite anyone who looks at him for too long."
Indeed, Loki was projecting an aura of "Don't Touch" so powerful it was practically physical. Whenever a socialite or a young tech-scion tried to approach Senku to ask about his exchange program, Loki would simply step half an inch in front of the boy, his expression sharpening into something predatory until the intruder scurried away.
Senku, however, was busy. He had snagged a glass of $5,000-a-bottle champagne and was currently holding it up to the chandelier, squinting at the bubbles.
"Look at the carbonation rate, Loki," Senku pointed out. "The pressure in this bottle must have been at least six atmospheres. The fermentation process used for this specific vintage is surprisingly efficient for a bunch of aristocrats."
Loki sighed, a fond, pained sound. "Must you reduce everything to its base components? We are in a room of the most powerful mortals on your planet. Is there nothing here that captures your interest? No... person?"
Loki stepped closer, invading Senku’s personal space. He was tall, looming over the scientist, his presence overwhelming. He was practically begging for Senku to notice the way his heart was racing, or the way he hadn't looked at another person all night.
The Shift in the Lab-Result
Senku paused. He lowered the glass.
For the first time all evening, he actually looked at Loki. Not as a heat source, not as a source of rare isotopes, but as a person. He saw the tension in Loki’s jaw. He saw the way Loki’s fingers were twitching, a nervous habit he only showed when his cool exterior was cracking.
Senku’s analytical brain, usually focused on the "rules of the world," suddenly took a massive amount of social data and processed it in a millisecond.
Observation A: Loki has spent 400% more time in my proximity than anyone else’s. Observation B: The physiological response (pupil dilation, increased heart rate, protective stance) is consistent with courtship rituals found in 98% of Earth’s avian and mammalian species. Observation C: The outfit. The coordination. The "magic" starlight silk.
The realization hit Senku like a physical weight. Ten billion percent certain... the God of Mischief is in love with me.
Most people would have blushed. Some would have panicked. Senku Ishigami simply felt a strange, hot spike of adrenaline. It wasn't logic—it was chemistry. A very specific, very potent biological reaction he hadn't accounted for in his blueprints.
He didn't say anything. He didn't let his expression change. He simply turned his gaze back to the champagne, but his hand—almost imperceptibly—brushed against Loki’s arm.
"The champagne is a 7/10," Senku said, his voice a little lower than usual. "But the company... is a 10 billion/10 for utility."
Loki’s eyes widened. "Utility?"
"You’re an interesting variable, Loki," Senku said, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips—a look that was far more sophisticated than his usual manic grin. "Don't let the pressure valve blow just because the room is crowded."
The Protective God
Before Loki could respond to that strangely cryptic comment, a drunk billionaire’s son stumbled into their space.
"Hey, kid," the man slurred, reaching out to grab Senku’s shoulder. "Cool hair. What is that, a wig? And who’s the bodyguard in the suit? He looks like—"
The man never finished his sentence.
Loki didn't even move his hands. He simply glared. The air around the drunk man suddenly solidified, the temperature dropping forty degrees in a heartbeat. The man’s drink froze solid in his hand, shattering the crystal glass.
"If you lay a finger on him," Loki whispered, his voice vibrating with a cold, ancient malice that silenced the nearby tables, "I will ensure your existence becomes a scientific footnote of how much pain a human nervous system can endure before failing."
The man turned pale, tripped over his own feet, and fled.
Senku watched the whole thing with an unreadable expression. He noticed the way Loki’s breath was hitching, the way the God was practically trembling with the effort to not kill the mortal where he stood.
He’s pining, Senku thought, the realization settling deep in his chest. A literal God is pining for a scientist who likes rocks and bacteria.
It was the most illogical thing Senku had ever encountered. It was a deviation from every law of nature he knew. And yet, as he looked at Loki’s fiercely protective silhouette, Senku found he didn't want to correct the error.
"Come on, you big-headed oaf," Senku said, grabbing Loki’s hand—his actual hand, skin to skin. "This party is boring. Let’s go back to the lab. I need you to help me synthesize a new polymer, and your 'divine' heat is the only thing that’ll work."
Loki stared down at their joined hands. He looked like he had been struck by lightning. He followed Senku out of the ballroom, dazed and utterly devoted, while the rest of the Avengers watched them go.
"Did Senku just... take the lead?" Natasha asked, leaning against a pillar.
"He knows," Tony said, whistling low. "He definitely knows. He’s just not going to make it easy for him."
"Poor Loki," Bruce murmured, though he was smiling. "He's trapped in a lab with the only person in the world who thinks he's more interesting as a battery than a King."
In the elevator, Senku didn't let go of Loki’s hand. He just stared at the floor numbers, his mind racing. He had a God in the palm of his hand, and for the first time in his life, Senku Ishigami decided he wasn't going to share his findings with anyone.